


The Last Alliance

by Aeshna etonensis (GMWWemyss)



Category: One Direction (Band), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, M/M, Not actually a university story either, Oxford, not actually a crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6579508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GMWWemyss/pseuds/Aeshna%20etonensis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn has not been sleeping well of late. And that mind of his is an odd place when deprived of sleep....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Alliance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Niler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/gifts).



* * *

_That dweam within a dweam...._

* * *

He wasn’t sleeping for toffee. And he’d rather he didn’t – not if he were going to go on dreaming the sort of dreams he’d been having.

* * *

He wasn’t sleeping for toffee. And he’d rather he didn’t – not if he were going to go on dreaming the sort of dreams he’d been having. He couldn’t sleep for toffee without Liam.

So he’d found himself trying desperately to distract himself: not least, from the aching fact that he was here and Liam … wasn’t.

He’d tried losing himself in tales; in images....

* * *

_In the land of Mordest...._

The Last Alliance, had they named it: for, did it succeed, it should be the last which was wanted against the Lesser Enemy; and, did it fail, there should be none left to stand and oppose the evil of Sauron.

It might yet succeed: but dire should be the cost. Many a long year beneath leaf and bough should the tall, curly-haired son of Oropher forego, even as had his father, fallen at Dagorlad amidst tears and glory past counting. And the bowman who stood by him, servant of his body, whom a few had thought a Dwarf until hotly corrected: Tolman, who said his folk were Stoors of Hobbitkind, ‘Tolmo’ to all, who had come from the vale of the Great River to stand with Men (insisting he was no less in stature than they, for all that eye told a different tale): what of him? These – Hobbits: that was the word – were near in kin and kind to Men, and shared the Gift, the Doom, of the Secondborn. For him as for the laughing, fair lad who stood near to the King of Men, there was no wait in the Halls of Mandos until the World should be made anew. Even in victory, so much should pass and perish: the mischief of the bowman Tolmo; fair lives of Elves; the laughter, silent at last, of the Northern Man of the Atanatári, fair and ruddy enough to be one of the Golden House or of the House of Hador: to the fathers of the fathers of which kindred his own people indeed were near in kith and sib.

And worst of all, the King of the Edain now returned to Middle-earth, might fall even in triumph: a price he should pay gladly, and yet one too dear to pay. For the King of Men had become very dear to _him;_ and the Gift of Men was that they were not bound, as he was, to the circles of the world....

He sighed. Six years of siege had they survived as the besiegers; yet there was about this morn the sense of doom, the end at last, in absolute victory or utter defeat.

He called for his esquire. With Aiglos in his hand and his beloved Man beside him wielding Narsil, none should stand this day against them, even should Sauron himself at last come forth to battle.

* * *

Zain woke with a start. He blinked, and slowly came back to his surroundings. Bells chimed, as they did rather too often. His oak was sported, all was quiet, he was alive – if alone. And he had an essay looming. He yawned, and considered, glumly, the chances – low – of its taking his mind off the absence of Liam.

* * *

Zayn woke with a start: this time, truly. Had that – had that been the _door_?

It had been. And the only person (not omitting his mum) who could have got in without Zayn’s letting him in was now standing in the doorway of his bedroom, beaming, and bearing a tray from which all manner of interesting and toothsome scents were wafting.

‘Liam....’ Zayn half-killed himself untangling himself from the bedclothes. It at least allowed Liam time to set the tray safely aside before he found himself with an armful of gloriously naked and pathetically grateful Zayn.

‘’Lo, love,’ said Liam, when he was allowed to come up for air. ‘Needn’t wonder did you miss me, anyroadup.’

Zayn whined into his neck. ‘’S terrible. Can’t sleep without you. Bad dreams.’

‘Oh, _love...._ ’

‘Not even me work distracts me enough. Had a horrible one just now.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Liam, depositing Zayn gently on the bed and fetching the tray. ‘It’ll go away then.’

‘I was. I was at uni.’

‘Well, _yeah,_ if as you wasn’t ever in the band –’

‘Oxford. Well, I think.’

Liam didn’t bother to say that Zayn probably knew more about student life at an Oxbridge college than ninety-nine fans in every hundred who wrote university-set fanfic about them. ‘Well, obviously, Mr Clever,’ said he, loyally.

‘’M not. Not _that_ clever. Loughborough or UEA or Leeds if I was lucky. But. In my dream, I was at Oxford, like.

‘And. You weren’t, and you weren’t there _with_ me.’

Liam simply looked at him as if it were Zayn who were thick. ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t be, love. Down the Jag factory, I reckon. Maybe the Mini factory down Cowley, so we’d meet in a pub in Oxford, and – well. Gew on, love.’

‘And I’d been trying to keep me mind off, and. Happen I’d been reading too much Tolkien. We all _died,_ love.’

‘But we didn’t. And it’s break; and I’m here. Now finish your breakfuss. I’ve plans for you today. And they don’t want that you get dressed; and they’re bloody well not including a Peter Jackson marathon.’

* * *

Much later, Liam whispered, ‘Love? You were a High Elf, I’ll wager. You said, “we all”: tell me. Was Tommo a Dwarf? Or … was he a Hobbit?’

Zayn blushed. ‘Don’t tell him. About – any of it.’

‘Shan’t, love. He’s almost done being angry with all this. I’m not _half_ telling him he’s only five foot nine only in _his_ dreams.’

* * *

‘Liam?’

‘Love?’

‘We died; but we beat fookin’ _management_.’

Liam chortled. ‘Took the Ring off Simon’s hand, anyroadup, did we? I’m not including Jones and Magee and them: they’re nobbut extras playing Orcs. Now take a kip, so I can wear you out a fourth time.’

Zayn yawned, contentedly, and snuggled in.

‘Sweet dreams, love,’ said Liam.

‘Now _you’re_ here,’ said Zayn; ‘’m glad you came over sea and saved me,’ and trailed off into snores.

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
